


Shock to the Senses

by siennavie



Series: More Than Team 'Verse [2]
Category: Flashpoint (TV)
Genre: A Little Fun, A little kink, A lot of sex, M/M, Multi, PWP, a little humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennavie/pseuds/siennavie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of explicit one-shots for Ed/Greg/Sam/Spike and any combination within. Bottom!Spike only (for now). Each chapter will have notes on pairings and kinks. I'm marking this complete because each individual one-shot is complete, although I may continue to add to the collection.</p><p>Chapter 1: 700 words of Spike on his knees<br/>Chapter 2: 800 words of Ed calling the shots<br/>Chapter 3: 1600 words of Spike's unique wake-up call<br/>Chapter 4: 1100 words of Spike discovering a kink<br/>Chapter 5: 3000 words of jealous lovers staking a claim<br/>Chapter 6: 900 words of sex in an alley</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gifted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not exactly a secret that Spike is gifted.
> 
> [Ed/Spike, blowjob, word count: 754]

It's not exactly a secret that Spike is gifted. Ask the man himself, and Spike wouldn't be shy to tell you that: yeah, he aced school; yeah, he skipped a grade…or two; yeah, he's received a few (okay maybe a lot of) academic and professional awards; and yeah, the government did try to recruit him in high school but his parents had refused to let their boy, quote, "run away and play James Bond."

But while Spike's gift of intelligence is known widely, only those who personally know him could say that Spike is blessed not only with brains, but also a quick wit, a good heart, and guileless charm. Those whom he calls friends would further attest to his gifts of unshakable optimism and a keen sense of empathy. 

His SRU family would add that Spike is also dedicated, determined, and gifted with his hands; and those who are intimately familiar with Spike would agree…albeit for entirely different reasons. Because those same, strong hands and nimble fingers that could expertly disassemble and reassemble a range of guns, untangle complex computer codes, and unweave the delicate wires of a bomb…are Ed's undoing now.

Ed watches with hooded eyes as Spike's fingers deftly unfasten the button and zip of his jeans. Layers of fabric are then eased aside to gently expose his rapidly hardening cock to the cool, open air. Spike strokes him with long, confident pulls, and it's not long before he's fully hard in those capable hands.

Spike pins him with a hungry gaze before sinking smoothly to his knees at Ed's feet. Ed sucks in a breath, waits expectantly, tries not to push into Spike's hand when the younger man takes a firm hold of his cock. This isn't their first rodeo, and yet, he's not at all prepared for the initial sensation of being engulfed in blissful, wet heat. Ed groans and his hips twitch forward impulsively, seeking more, and Spike's steady hands fly up to grasp his hips and ground him.

Thankfully, Spike doesn't waste time with teasing; the sounds that manage to escape his otherwise occupied lips prove that he's just as eager and excited. He swallows Ed deep almost immediately and practically purrs with contentment. The vibrations shoot up and down Ed's spine, and he gasps as every nerve ending in his body jolts and shudders to life. 

Before his system can settle, Spike begins bobbing his head back and forth in earnest, tongue relentlessly stroking under and over the rich bundle of nerves near the head, wet pink lips stretched wide, switching between sucking and gliding and moaning and sucking again, taking him whole almost every time and driving Ed into a frenzy. 

Ed can do no more than pant harshly, shallowly, barely drawing in breath as his body tries to keep up with Spike's fevered pace. He feels his orgasm building quickly, blood racing hot and heavy in his veins.

Ed balls his hands and bangs a fist into the wall behind him. It's that or grabbing Spike's hair and fucking wildly into that delicious heat. Spike must notice his desperation and near loss of control because fingers dig into his hip, and a hand moves behind his balls. Knuckles press up against that delicate stretch of skin as a finger ghosts over his hole, and then Spike draws Ed deep, lips sealed tight, and sucks spectacularly hard, and Ed sees a burst of white stars.

He feels faint, but his feet thankfully stay beneath him. It takes a few heartbeats for his harsh breathing to calm down, a few more for his sight to return. When it does, he finds Spike still kneeling on the ground, working his own cock furiously in hand. 

Ed stares longingly at the glistening, dark pink tip disappearing in and out of Spike's graceful hands, wants to help, but he's not sure he can get down without falling on his jellied legs and shaky knees. It doesn't matter anyways. Spike looks up then through the fan of his eyelashes, catches Ed watching with uninhibited lust, and comes with a stutter of breath and a hitched whimper.

Ed studies his extraordinarily gifted lover. There's a mess of come all over those clever hands and more come around the edges of that clever mouth—that clever and _sinful_ mouth. One of his lesser known gifts—Ed thinks, lips twitching with amusement—and one that Ed is happy to keep as so.


	2. Coming Home to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg comes home and doesn't find his lovers where he expects.
> 
> [Sam/Spike, Ed/Greg, word count: 818. Originally published 7/5/2015]

Greg gets home from work just as the sun disappears below the horizon. He's expecting to find his lovers in the living room in front of the TV, gamely bickering about something or another. But it's silent and almost completely dark inside, which is remarkably strange for a house occupied by three active men. He knows it's late, but it's not _that_ late.

The only light glows dimly from upstairs.

He toes off his shoes and hangs up his coat and keys, then makes his way up the steps, drawn by the light and more than a bit of curiosity.

As he gets closer to the top, faint sounds reach his ears. He pauses mid-step, listening intently; there's a murmur of voices, then the bright ring of Spike's laugh that falls away suddenly into a long, deep moan. A moan that Greg knows all too well. Short, husky, rhythmic vocalizations follow, and his body responds automatically, warmth and need blooming low in his belly. 

The door to their bedroom is ajar. He approaches quietly and stops just outside the door. The gap is wide enough for him to see one half of their extra-wide bed and the two bodies poised above the sheets, one blond, the other brunette, pushing and pulling together in waves, gasps and groans unabashedly breaking the silence. Ed's voice is a lazy drawl from somewhere inside the room out of Greg's view.

"Stop, Sam. Don’t move."

There's a whine of protest from the man being addressed, but he listens to the order: "Fuck, Ed. I'm so close."

"Exactly." Ed sounds more amused than sympathetic.

"And what about me?" A more nasal voice pipes up, sounding less than enthused with the situation as well. "You think it's tough for you— _HEY!_ " Spike yelps as Sam's hand lands with a crack on his ass.

Greg can't help but snicker with the two other men in the room, and it's that noise that draws the attention of the group inside.

Caught out, Greg pushes the door open wider and steps inside. Ed is sitting in the large armchair across the room, clad only in boxers, one hand idly stroking himself through the flap as he flashes Greg a grin, looking too pleased with himself. 

Greg had called Ed earlier to let him know he was headed home. It's obvious this display was the brainchild of his mischievous team leader.

"Finally!" Sam says. His blonde lover greets him with a bright smile that lasts for all of two seconds, before turning to Ed with pleading eyes. " _Now_ can I finish?"

"You better." Spike retorts first, and wiggles—as much as possible on hands and knees and pinned by Sam's dick—for emphasis. "And don't forget about me, okay?"

"Aww, Spikey, I could never forget a beautiful face—though from this vantage point, I should probably say ass—like yours."

"Cut the sweet talk, Romeo, and get movin' already."

"Yes, my sweet Juliet."

"Ohhhh, you are— _ung_ —so paying— _ahh_ \--for that."

"I look forward to it."

Greg makes a show of rolling his eyes at their two younger lovers as Ed stands up and walks to him. "Hey, you took longer than we expected. I thought Sam was gonna bust a ball waiting for you." 

Greg laughs as the other man takes him by the hand and leads him to the far side of the bed. "I think you need to lose a few things if you wanna catch up," Ed teases as his fingers begin popping buttons and stripping Greg from head to toe. Greg helps as much as he can, eager to join the action too. 

Once the last bit of fabric has been discarded to the floor, Ed props himself up with pillows against the headboard and pulls Greg down to sit between his parted legs. Ed's chest is solid and warm against his back; and so is the recognizable length pressed to his tailbone. Greg relaxes in his lover's embrace, lets his head loll to the side to enjoy the view of his other lovers. He's already half hard when a strong hand wraps around him and begins stroking him to full length.

They're quiet as they watch; the only sounds the progressively harsh breathing and exhalations from the opposite side of the bed. He knows Ed is watching just as closely when Sam's grip tightens on Spike's hip and Spike pushes back, bodies flush together as they tremble and come with a shout.

"Believe me," Greg murmurs, "if I could choose between this"—he nods at the two men now collapsed in a limp pile on the bed—"and talking leadership strategy…" He tilts his head upward and gazes into Ed's deep blue eyes. "No contest."

Ed's chest bounces with his chuckles, "I'll keep you informed next time, then."

Greg smiles. "Make sure you do that, Eddie. Make sure you do."


	3. Shock to the Senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike's day off with his lovers begins with an...abnormal cold snap.
> 
> [Spike gets a turn with everyone, word count: 1626. Originally published 7/9/2015]

Even on their days off, Ed and Greg woke up at 5 a.m. to insistent internal alarms and got out of bed. Some would call it discipline, but Greg called it a reluctant force of habit, and Ed—Ed was just naturally (and annoyingly) perky. Sam, by misfortune of being a light sleeper, tended to rise on the heels of his lovers. 

That left Spike; a man whose brain would casually cruise at 100 miles per hour each day only to crash to a spectacular halt once his head hit the pillow. Any attempts to wake their genius before 7 on a day off were met with the Scarlatti death glare and a colorful array of Italian not meant for polite ears. There was only one method that worked to arouse their Sleeping Beauty, but even that didn't have a 100% success rate.

Ed stood over Spike, assessing the only man still lying horizontal with the same intense concentration that he reserved for building tactical assault plans. Spike was stretched out on his stomach, one lean leg drawn up over a pillow, both arms cradling another pillow under his head. Sometime in the night, the blanket had been kicked down to mid-thigh, and thus Ed was gifted with an unimpeded view of Spike's birthday suit; apparently, last night's strenuous 'workout' in the shower had exhausted the younger man enough that he hadn't bothered to put on his usual boxers and superhero tee.

"Nice view, huh?" Greg said in a hushed voice as he padded over to stand beside Ed. "Maybe we should take a picture." When the Sergeant got a good look at the sniper's calculating face, he added, "Uhoh. What's cooking under that bald cap of yours?"

Ed smiled and turned his gaze to Greg, an impish gleam in his eyes. "What do you think: Play nice? Or play dirty?"

"Aren't they the same thing?" said Sam as he wandered out from the bathroom and joined them in conspiring against their youngest lover.

Greg pretended to consider the question seriously, though he had already reached a conclusion: "He's not wrong." 

Ed's smile grew positively predatory. He darted out of the room—leaving behind two bemused lovers—and returned a minute later with a small, white towel bunched in one hand. 

"Sam, strip the blanket and be ready to contain him," Ed directed, every bit the Team Leader in his voice, and Sam jumped to obey.

Greg started getting a little worried for his unsuspecting lover. "I don't have to remind you to also play safely, now."

Ed's grin could only be described as wicked. "C'mon, where's the fun in that? Now go sit and wait for my signal."

Greg tried on his best reproachful face, but he couldn't quite hide the amusement in his eyes. "I also don't have to remind you who's the boss around here, right?"

"Yeah. Right now. Me," Ed replied deadpan, before firmly shoving Greg towards the bed. The Sergeant rolled his eyes at his lover's bossiness in the bedroom but took his seat as commanded.

In the meanwhile, Sam had managed to crawl over to the prone man, pull back the sheets completely, and kneel with one leg on either side of Spike's waist. He waited a moment to make sure the man was still soundly sleeping before giving his co-conspirators a thumbs-up. 

Ed took his cue and crept up the bed, taking a kneeling position between Spike's spread legs. He set the white cloth bundle down within reach of his right hand, and both Sam and Greg craned their necks to see the contents. Ed held a finger up to his lips, instructing them to keep quiet as he unwrapped the cloth and held up—

An ice cube. Greg barely stifled his snort of laughter, and Sam's grin somehow managed to grow wider. It went unspoken that Ed would not come armed with just one either.

Ed adjusted himself to a more comfortable position on his knees and readied one hand on Spike's raised thigh before pressing the ice cube, gently at first, to the top of Spike's ass crack.

Spike remained still.

Ed pressed down more firmly and slowly slid the icy block down the obvious trail way.

Spike began to stir.

As Ed neared his target, Spike made a noise and tried to move away. Three hands clamped down and then Spike _really_ snapped awake. 

"Mmm…Hm? Hey!" The man beneath their hands began protesting and squirming fast, all at once, and Sam responded by planting his butt firmly on top and grabbing a hold of Spike's flailing arms while Ed kept Spike's legs splayed open with the help of his knees.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Sam sing-songed loudly, because he wasn't inclined to scare their lover any more than necessary, and Spike froze, brain now recognizing and processing each of his three partners situated around him.

But the stillness didn't last long as the icy cold sensation overwhelmed the initial rush of adrenaline, and Spike exclaimed, "Fuck! What is that?!" and bucked, but the two men were prepared and tightened their holds. "Oh fuck, that's cold! What the hell are you _doing_?!"

"You mean this?" Ed asked innocently, as he circled Spike's hole with the melting ice before dipping the tip inside.

Unable to move, Spike pressed his face into the pillow, and then a string of cuss words in both Italian and English could be heard.

The room filled with three distinct chuckles, and a muffled "I hate you guys" was spoken loud enough to cut through feather and fabric and be clearly heard by all.

Greg petted Spike's calf with one hand. "We love you too, babe." 

After Ed managed to compose himself, he began moving the ice again, alternating began circling around and dipping inside and lightly blowing cool air in the wake of its path. Wetness dripped from Spike's hole and Ed was mesmerized by the minute twitches of muscle as drops of water carved a trail down the sensitive spot behind Spike's balls before pooling on said balls. Before Spike could get numb, Ed removed and set aside the small ice chip that remained. His voice was lower and hoarser than he expected when he quipped, "Or maybe you mean this?" Then he placed the flat of his tongue where the ice had just been, and Spike responded with a loud, surprised _ah_ and a shudder that reverberated all the way to Ed's toes.

Ed slowly drew his tongue around the cold rim, and Spike's shout of surprise quickly devolved into a pleased moan. He licked a few more times, picking up every last drop of water and letting his heat transfer to Spike's cool flesh. When Spike began eagerly pushing back on his tongue, Ed retreated to grab a new, slightly melted ice cube. 

Spike made an aggravated, bitten-off sound at the sudden change in temperature, and Ed could feel the muscles contracting in Spike's ass and thighs. It was obvious the younger man was trying to hold still, and Ed felt a heady rush of arousal at their lover's surrender. 

Having noticed Spike's submission too, Sam relaxed his hold and, for a reward, leaned forward to press hot kisses to his lover's shoulders and neck. Spike moaned uninhibitedly, and Sam suckled a little harder at the junction, intent on making a claim.

Between the hot and the cold, Spike was pulled between unfamiliar waves of pleasure. When he felt the bed shift and the icy chill suddenly disappear, he braced for the initial near-intolerable wet heat, but this time it was a hard, thick finger that breached his body, pushing in the deepest yet and drawing a gasp out of him as it began a slow steady rhythm in and out. He didn't notice the bed dipping and the weight removed from his back as a second finger, then a third joined the first, keeping up that slow, maddening pace. He didn't notice he was free to move until the fingers disappeared and a pair of hands prompted him to roll over onto his back.

He'd barely opened his eyes when his mouth was captured in a demanding kiss. _Greg._ Spike would recognize those skillful lips anywhere. Greg's gun-calloused hand felt rough, yet tender on his sensitive inner thighs, and Spike instinctively hitched his legs higher and spread his thighs further, making room for his lover to push in harder and deeper.

Although Spike could be fiery and a bit contrary with Ed and Sam, he always melted soft and sweet, eager to please, beneath Greg's touch. Greg fucking loved it. And after watching the other boys slowly unravel Spike, he knew he wasn't going to last very long now that he was surrounded in Spike's tight heat. His thrusts were getting erratic already. With one hand, he took hold of Spike's stiff and leaking cock, and began pumping, albeit without much rhyme or rhythm, but the younger man didn't seem to mind judging by his vocal performance, the _pleasepleaseplease_ falling freely like water from his lips, until he came with long, hot pulses over Greg's hand. With his lover sated and trembling beneath him, Greg thrusted forward a few more times, before burying himself to the hilt and giving in to his own release. 

*****

It's 5:43 am and all four men are wide awake and lying flat on their backs in bed, every man satisfied and slowly recovering from their rousing round of morning sex, when Spike's voice breaks the peacefulness.

"So, I had this really awesome sex dream…"


	4. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike didn't expect to lose the bet.
> 
> [Sam/Spike, panty-kink, word count: 1099; had to hit this cliche sometime ;)]

"Guys, this looks stupid."

Spike knows he's whining, but he thinks it's justified on this occasion. He contorts his body, studies his ass in the bathroom mirror again. Yup, stupid.

"You're the one who made the bet," Sam responds from the adjacent bedroom.

"That was before I thought I'd lose," Spike retorts.

"So, you're gonna be a sore loser now?" Sam's voice is mocking.

"Spike, why don't you let us be the judge?" offers Greg, in the calm, conciliatory tone he uses for negotiations.

"Or," Ed interjects, "how about, if you don't come out right now, we're coming in and dragging your ass out anyways."

"I'd choose the dignified option if I were you," Sam advises.

"And what would that be, huh?" snaps Spike. "There is no such thing as dignity in-in—in _this_."

"Okay, if you say so." Sam's voice sounds much closer than before, but before Spike can consider its significance, the door flies open and his former Special-Forces lover swoops in. He manages only a cry of "Hey!" before he's ass up in the air, upended over one shoulder. 

Spike slaps at Sam's back, but Sam only grips him tighter. "Undignified, it is," Sam quips lightly, and Spike utters a curse as his view of tile switches to carpet. 

Great, now all his lovers have a perfect view of his rear end. It's not so much the silky, black lace panties that bothers him—it's the big, sparkly, pink bow perched above his exposed crack. Yes, they were _crotchless_ , or should he say assless, panties too.

He hears unsuccessfully concealed chuckling on one side and outright loud guffaws on the other. He smacks Sam's ass in exasperation and gets a slap back on one cheek in response, before he's dumped with a bounce onto the bed.

Spike glares into the blue eyes hovering above him but they only twinkle back. And then those blue eyes drop down to his crotch, to the pink ribbon laced crisscrossed over his cock, and when his lover looks back up, it’s to say with a straight face: "I don't know, Spike. I think pink is your color." 

There's a chorus of "oohs."

Spike kicks at Sam in retaliation, but Sam casually parries his attack and shoves each leg aside before bodily surging forward into the space-between, pinning Spike's hips with his own and efficiently securing one wrist on either side of his head. 

Sam wears an annoyingly smug look, and Spike rolls his eyes. But his irritation quickly fades when Sam does a little shimmy above him, and his attention is redirected to his lover's jeans-clad groin rubbing up against the smooth silk and lace barely covering his cock and balls. He thinks he might have whimpered, just a little bit.

Unsurprisingly, Sam picks up on it and begins to grind against him, a slow, strong roll of his hips that draws a deep moan from Spike's throat. His cock fills quickly, eagerly, to meet the hard length pressing against him, stretching out the scrap of silk so that it hugs his cock deliciously tight. 

Sam watches him with blue eyes nearly turned black. Spread out beneath his lover's hungry gaze, the low burn of arousal in his veins is rapidly stoked into an uncontrollable fire, and he rocks his hips upwards, seeking that final bit of friction that will do him in…but Sam stills completely instead. When Spike doesn't stop his motions, the bastard hitches his hips too high for Spike to find any satisfaction. Unable to do anything else for himself, with his hands still pinned, Spike flings his head back into the mattress and groans in frustration. Above him, Sam makes a shushing sound and murmurs, low and husky, "Easy now."

Spike grunts unhappily, but shudders and quiets when Sam rubs soothing circles with his thumb on the inside of his wrists; trails tender kisses across his jaw and the length of his neck. They stay like that for an indeterminate length of time, until Spike's arousal, that had swelled so swiftly and so sharply, recedes from the edge. So when Sam takes one hand, smooths it down his side, across the junction of hip and thigh, down, down until he's cupping Spike through the thin barrier of silk, Spike manages not to explode. Nor does that happen when Sam's fingers begin a gentle caress that quickly escalates to a firm massage, cool silk slipping and sliding across his hot flesh.

Spike doesn't think it could get any better until Sam scoots down, face-level with Spike's crotch, and mouths at his cock and balls through the fabric. Hot breath and cool air, spit soaking the silk and clinging to his skin. Spike clutches at the bedsheets to hold himself still as Sam lavishes attention to every inch of his clothed cock. It's a shock when slick heat envelops the head, peeking out from beneath the elastic waistband, and he gasps when a tongue laps at his slit. 

After being licked and sucked and turned into a gasping, writhing mess, Sam then urges him onto his stomach. His cheeks—and the convenient slit in his panties—are pulled apart, and that same talented tongue gets back to work, dragging wet stripes across his exposed hole. 

Spike doesn't care anymore about the picture he makes in the black silk panties and with the stupid pink bow on his ass as Sam fucks him thoroughly with his tongue. He just humps the bed wantonly, mewls into the sheets, seeking his own pleasure. When Sam pushes in one spit-slicked finger and finds that spot deep inside him, Spike seizes around him, a wordless cry on his lips.

After his seemingly endless orgasm fades, he sinks boneless, completely languid, into the mattress. In contrast, there's a flurry of movement behind him—zipper, fabric, flesh working flesh—and soon there's a warm splash across his ass, followed by another…and he realizes that Sam had just jerked off on him. Jerked off on his panties, which he finds rather hot and sexy until the silk begins to get uncomfortably sticky and stiff all at once. It's apparent the front fared no better than the back when Spike levers himself up onto his knees. 

Ed and Greg had taken seats by the headboard to watch the show. He notices both men frowning and critically eyeing the destroyed undergarment.

Sam must have noticed as well, because he tells them with a sly grin, "Don't worry, there's more where those came from." 

And Spike finds himself glad to hear it.


	5. Between A Rock and A Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike is reunited with an old flame. His lovers aren't happy.
> 
> [Spike/everyone, kink: DP!, word count: 3016]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For brokenhazeleyes who requested possessive Sam/Ed/Greg, bottom!Spike, staking a claim, and marking kink. Sorry, bb. I was kinda light on the latter because I was busy manipulating too many *bleeeep* ;) Also, I'm curious to see if you recognize the mystery man.

Friday night at the Goose, and Greg is grateful that Sam has managed to commandeer one of the few booths. After a long week on their feet, he just wants to sink into plush leather and relax with his lovers. 

He gets the cozy spot in the middle of their semi-circle with Sam, while Spike and Ed box them in. He's content, quickly getting warm and comfortable nestled between his lovers, when a shadow crosses the table. He looks up with the rest expecting the waitress, but instead finds a man—roughly his age, but sporting a head full of thick, dark locks and a distinguished salt and pepper beard—looming above their table.

In another situation, Greg would have admired the stranger's ruggedly handsome features, broad shoulders under a soft black leather jacket, and devil may care attitude. But right now, he's finding it difficult to appreciate anything about the man, when said man is overtly _smoldering_ —he can't think of a better word for that kind of dark, penetrating, and lustful gaze—at one of his lovers.

Greg shares a frown with Ed and Sam, but finds the subject of the man's attention completely oblivious to the mood around the table. Spike looks stunned, eyes wide and round, jaw hanging low, as he stares up at the man.

The stranger's lips twitches, something resembling amusement. Then he rumbles in a warm, rich baritone: "Buona sera tesoro mio."

And Greg looks on with astonishment as Spike smiles broadly and practically slingshots from his seat into the man's open arms. The stranger is smiling now too, catching Spike in a bear hug and lifting the slighter man right off the ground with ease. 

"You're lookin' good, baby," the stranger says, and Greg's eyebrows jump up. _Baby?_

The man sets Spike down, but not before getting a greedy handful of Spike's ass. And Greg notes that the bearer of that ass seems completely unfazed by the intimacy. Spike is practically beaming, dimples out in full force. 

Then Spike looks the stranger over and Greg's brow draws downwards, parallel with his lover's gaze. Spike taps the stranger's perfectly flat belly with the back of his hand and teases, "I don't know if I can say the same about you, man. I don't think you've been hitting the gym enough." 

The stranger grins something feral, all white and sparkling teeth. "You know I get my workout in other ways."

Spike turns a deep shade of pink, and the primitive part of Greg's brain balks at the implications. Beside him, his other lovers are practically vibrating with displeasure.

Spike must sense the increasingly tense atmosphere, because he's rubbing his neck with one hand, a nervous tell, as he finally looks at the three of them seated at the table. His eyes and voice are overly bright when he introduces them: "Um, guys, this is Jeff. He's an old friend."

Old _friend_. Right.

"Jeff, this is Greg, Sam, and Ed. They're my, um, boyfriends."

And it's like Jeff is suddenly seeing them for the first time. His eyes focus on each of them as he says, "Boyfriends as in boy-friends or…Oh, I see." Greg thinks it's the three sets of glares that give them away.

Jeff is sober all of a sudden, his lackadaisical demeanor hardening into something else. His dark eyes are hard like flint when they lock with Greg's. Greg tilts his chin and looks down his nose, in the way that has made many a perp quiver in their boots. 

Jeff doesn't quiver, doesn't even flinch. And Greg thinks they're headed for a stalemate because he'll be damned if he backs down first. But a second later, Jeff's gaze deliberately moves on, giving the same treatment to Sam and Ed. Neither of his lovers give way either and Greg feels a warm glow of satisfaction. But when Jeff nods, all traces of hostility abruptly melting from his body, Greg thinks he was just given some sort of test.

Jeff returns his attention to Spike—who looks more than a bit exasperated, yet incredibly indulgent, of their alpha posturing, like a couple of dogs who needed to sniff each other for the first time. Greg's somewhat impressed by how smoothly Jeff handles a ruffled Spike. The man whispers something in Spike's ear that first has the smaller man rolling his eyes. But then a slow smile and a pink flush begins to slowly creep across Spike's face. Jeff whispers again, and Spike chuckles and shoves his friend in the shoulder, saying, "Get out of here. And stay out of trouble, okay?"

"No promises," replies Jeff with a quick smile. Then he turns back to the table and nods curtly, a farewell and dismissal all in one. "Take good care of him," he says gruffly, before walking away. The _or else_ hangs unspoken in the air.

Greg can't quite decide whether to hate or admire the man when Sam leans over and asks in a quiet, uneasy voice, "Doesn't he look familiar?"

Greg frowns and instinctively looks back at the subject in question…just in time to see two women in slinky dresses descending like vultures on an unsuspecting Jeff: "Oh my God! It's really you!" they squeal in unison. "You're even more gorgeous in person. Can we have your autograph? And a picture, too! My sister is going to be so jealous."

Jeff takes it in stride, and suddenly, Greg remembers. Places that tanned, handsome face as belonging to some ridiculously good-looking actor from some ridiculously popular hospital drama show. There was an ad for it on TV just the night before, while they were all curled up on the couch channel-surfing.

"You never mentioned your ex was a famous actor." There's a hint of accusation in Sam's tone.

"He's not my ex. It was just a fling," Spike says defensively, but seems to realize immediately that wasn't the right thing to say either. "Look, it was a long time ago. He wasn't anybody famous then!"

"Still, the way he was looking at you…" Ed pins Spike with a measuring stare. "Seemed like more than a fling to me."

Spike flushes and rubs the back of his neck. "It wasn't anything," he insists. But to everyone else at the table, it quite clearly was.

*****

On the drive home, sitting in a silent car with his three lovers, Spike feels a pang of guilt. No one has said it out loud, but he feels responsible for cutting their evening short. Not to mention ruining everyone's good mood. Immediately after that conversation, following Jeff's departure, his three lovers had shared a look and vacated the booth, hustling Spike between them out of the bar. 

Yeah, maybe he'd been a little overenthusiastic in greeting Jeff. And Jeff might have been a bit intense, too. But Jeff had always been an energetic, playful, and affectionate kind of guy, just like Spike. That's why their two weeks together, spent mostly under the sheets, had been so explosive. He had just never prepared himself for Jeff to come in like a force of nature and be less than subtle in front of his three possessive lovers.

The silence follows Spike out of the car and up the steps of their house. But he's only a few steps across the threshold when a gravelly voice calls out, "Spike," and strong fingers grip his arm and pull him backwards. He lands with a thud, back up against the wall, sees only a flash of icy blue eyes before a hand fists his hair and lips come crushing down on his.

Ed licks into his mouth, and Spike yields to the onslaught of lips and teeth and tongue. When Ed grounds his rock hard cock against his own, Spike thrums with anticipation. His hands reach for Ed's clothing, wanting to peel them off and feel skin on skin, but Ed knocks them away. And in the next few moments, Spike finds himself stripped naked from the waist down, feet kicked apart, a hand between his legs and slick fingers probing at his entrance. Two of them push in easily. But they're not there for pleasure. Ed's movements are quick and efficient at just getting lube inside him, stretching him minimally before pulling out.

Then Ed grips him beneath the swell of his ass and lifts. Spike instinctively grabs Ed's shoulders and wraps his legs tight around his lover's waist. Soon, a hot and heavy cock is pressing insistently at his slippery hole, and Spike shudders when the first ring of muscle is breached. Another sharp thrust, hardly a second later, and Spike is impaled completely, the breath punched from his lungs. Spike gasps at the sudden stretch, clutches and claws at Ed's shoulders as the slow burn settles in.

Ed sucks and bites at his collar, giving him time to adjust to the penetration. A particularly hard suckle and a brief flare of pain at the junction of his neck, and Spike knows that's going to be a spectacular hickey. 

Then Ed's voice, low and husky, pierces the haze of arousal. "What did he do to you, Spike? Hm? What did you let him do? Did he do this?" He pulls out slowly and then shoves back in and Spike shouts. "What about this?" Fingers dig deep and bruising into his thighs as Ed begins fucking him in earnest, drilling into him mercilessly with sharp snaps of his hips. Pinned and split open on Ed's cock, Spike can only hang on for the ride. He cries out when one thrust nails his prostate, and when Ed finds it again and again, Spike bites his lip, shudders violently and clamps around the cock inside him.

Ed fucks Spike through his orgasm before chasing his own, crushing him further against the wall, rolling his hips until his breathing goes ragged. His hips jerk one more time, and Spike can feel his lover pulse within him. 

When Ed finally lowers him down, his thighs are shaking. Nearly falls just standing, but Greg catches him and half-carries him into the living room. He's laid out on their plush rug and watches with half open eyes as their others lovers follow them in. 

Spike still hasn't found his breath when his mouth is plundered again. This time it's Greg. Greg who sucks the breath from his lungs; Greg who's fucking his mouth with his tongue; Greg who pulls back, traces the curve of his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and quietly asks: "Your mouth. Did you give your mouth to him as well? Did you swallow him down, suck him dry, lick him clean?"

His lover doesn't wait for an answer. Spike thinks it's obvious in his continued silence. Greg drags a fingernail up his spent and sensitive cock: "How many times, Spike? Once, twice, ten times…more?" 

Spike whimpers.

"Fuck. No wonder he can't forget you."

Then Greg surges forward, steals another kiss before pushing up to his knees above Spike's head and bumping the head of his cock against Spike's lips. Spike opens his mouth, eager for the offering—Greg isn't wrong; he loves sucking cock.

He licks at the tip, tastes pre-come on his tongue. Greg leans in further and Spike wraps his mouth around the head, tongues the underside and sucks, earning him a deep groan from the man above him. Spike can see the tension in his lover's body as he tries to inch forward slowly instead of shoving immediately into Spike's throat. He relaxes the muscles in his jaw, willing to let Greg take from him what he needs. But Greg only uses his mouth briefly, uses him only until his cock is sloppy wet. Then he pulls back, flips Spike over onto his stomach and pushes inside his still wet and open hole.

Greg lets go of his tightly wound control then and Spike moans as he's pounded into the floor, cock stirring valiantly beneath him as Greg takes and takes and takes until his lover stills and spills into him, adding to the mess between his thighs. Greg pulls out slowly, and just when Spike thinks his lover is done, he feels a sharp nip under the swell of his buttocks that's quickly soothed with a tongue. His collection of hickeys is growing.

When Spike rolls back over, he's not surprised to find Sam standing above him now, looking down at him expectantly. His thighs fall apart naturally to welcome his lover and Sam gives him a small, pleased smile. Sam kneels down between his legs and pushes two fingers easily into his messy hole. He pumps his fingers once and makes a noise of approval. Then he stands up, looking unhurried as he unzips, kicks off his jeans and boxers, and slicks himself up as Spike watches with hooded eyes. His cock is flushed red and bobs heavy between his thighs as he kneels once again between Spike's legs. The slide in is smooth, and Spike sucks in a breath as he's stuffed full again.

He's expecting to get drilled, for Sam to set a demanding pace like his previous lovers. But Sam sticks perfectly to a not-quite-fast, not-quite-slow pace, barely scraping—no, more like avoiding—his prostate the whole time.

It's driving Spike mad.

Sam, on the other hand, seems perfectly content, humming as he continues his leisurely pace. Growing impatient, Spike wiggles beneath him, a cue for his lover to pick up his goddamn speed. Sam looks him the eyes then, the picture of innocence when he says, "You want something, Spike?"

So that's how Sam's playing it. Spike bites his lip. His pride doesn't want to give in, but his ass is already gonna be so sore the next day, so he capitulates faster than his ego is happy with. "Fuck, Sam, just move already, do something, anything, just, I need more." He tacks on a " _please_ " at the end for good measure.

"You want more?" Sam asks, eyes lighting up. And that should have given Spike a clue, but he's too worked up to notice.

"Yes," he practically yells. "Just fuck me already!"

Sam just smiles a calm, serene smile and shrugs. "You asked for it."

Then Sam rolls and pulls Spike with him, so that he's on top and lying on Sam's chest. When Spike tries to sit up, ready to take over and ride his lover to completion, Sam's arms clamp down, keeping him flat. He's confused until he feels a thick, blunt finger probing at his already stretched entrance and Ed's voice purring: "How much more do you want, _baby_?" And then the finger breaches him. 

Oh fuck. Spike whimpers into Sam's chest. If this is going where he thinks it's going—

Another finger joins the first. 

—He's not sure he can do this.—

A third.

—Oh god, oh god, oh god—

Four now.

—He can practically picture Ed's cock in him now alongside Sam's, and fuck, he wants it. He wants it bad—

There's incredible pressure now, something much larger than four fingers, and he feels doubt for a moment that Ed's going to fit, but then he finds his body yielding, giving it up and opening wide, so much wider than he's ever been, to embrace his second lover. 

He keens brokenly. Jeff had been extremely well-endowed, more so than any other of his lovers, but he's absolutely no comparison to the two cocks in him now.

Sam's rubbing soothing circles on his back and he feels Ed's finger gently tracing the edges of his stuffed hole. "Oh fuck, Spike, I wish you could see this. So fucking tight. So fucking amazing." 

Then Ed pulls out experimentally and all three men groan. He feels more lube dripping down where they're all joined. Then Ed slowly pushes back in, and Spike's brain short circuits at the indescribable pressure. Both inside and out, trapped between his two lovers, his fingers digging deep into Sam's biceps while Ed's digs bruises into his hips.

Sam seems similarly overwhelmed because he goes tense beneath Spike. And after just a few more rolls of Ed's hips, Sam shouts and arches his back, head thrown back in pleasure as he comes. Ed and Spike gasp when Sam's orgasm rocks them. When Sam's done twitching, Spike feels Ed's hands pulling at his waist, encouraging him up into a sitting position. Ed's arms circle his waist, helping him stay upright, then his cock is taken in a firm grip and stripped quickly. It doesn't take much before he's spilling all over Ed's hands and Sam's stomach. Ed releases his hypersensitive cock quickly, catches his chin with one messy hand and brings their mouths together in a sloppy kiss, swallowing his groans until the aftershocks fade.

His lovers are careful and gentle, more than normal if that was possible, as they tend to Spike afterwards. Sam carries him to bed, helps him roll onto his stomach. Exhausted, Spike doesn't even try to keep his eyes open as they clean him up best they can. But Spike can still feel his three lovers deep within him, taking their pleasure from his body, giving him pleasure from theirs.

Eventually, three more bodies settle around him, taking their usual positions by his side, at his back. One hand strokes his hair, another the small of his back, and another gently soothes his aching ass. 

Then he hears Sam's voice murmur in his ear: "Could he give you this?"

And Spike sleepily whispers, "No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious, the dark stranger from Spike's past says "Good evening my sweetheart" in Italian (according to my google-fu :P).


	6. Not Exactly According to Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike knows he shouldn't have done that.
> 
> [Spike/your choice x 2, kink: public sex, word count: 891]

Spike can't believe they're doing this. In the shadows of some seedy back alley like a john with his dirty secret. Where any passerby looking deeply enough into the darkness would see him bare-assed, split open on one cock while rubbing off on another. _Greedy_ , they would think. _Insatiable. Cock-slut._

They wouldn't exactly be wrong. 

His _third_ lover couldn't be here tonight. But it takes him little effort to imagine the taste of his missing lover in his mouth, velvet skin sliding hot and heavy over his tongue, drops of pre-come teasing his palate… 

He moans, long and loud, the sound resonating in the narrow corridor. If they haven't been discovered yet, they just might have been now. He hides his blush in the collar of his lover's shirt. 

The arms around him, immobilizing him, tighten further as hard, thick flesh rams inside him with greater urgency. He takes every inch to the root because he has nowhere to go. Backwards onto dick and forward into solid muscle; if not for his lover cradling him to his chest, absorbing the shock of every thrust, his dick would be scraped raw on brick and mortar by now. 

Instead, his hard-on is nestled between the planes of their stomachs, beside his lover's own fat cock. Lube makes them slip-slide against each other as he's jostled roughly from behind. 

Then a hand worms between their bodies, working the tips of their cocks in a tight, calloused grip, and the pressure and friction from inside and out winds his body up tighter and tighter until he feels like a bowstring ready to snap.

But instead of the release he's eagerly expecting any second now, the hand on him and the cock inside him suddenly still—and remain still, dragging him unwillingly from the cusp as he squirms and pleads for _something, anything_ in his cage of flesh and bone. 

A hand closes over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheeks, quieting him. The body behind him somehow crowds even closer. 

There's only the sound of heavy breathing for a long moment, before hot breath caresses his ear and a voice growls, low and intense, "This isn't your show now."

Goosebumps prickle his skin.

He's getting punished. And he knows why.

He shouldn't have flirted with the tall, dark, and gorgeous stranger at the bar.  
(Although, it's not like he had made the first move.)

He shouldn't have accepted the stranger's invitation to the dance floor.  
(It wasn't his fault that his lovers had refused his repeated requests.)

He should have left a decent amount of space between their bodies.  
(But the stranger had smoothly reeled him in until they were flush from chest to groin. He hadn't pulled away.)

He knew exactly what he had been doing.

Had expected—and anticipated—a thorough reaming that night from his lovers.

He just hadn't expected them to be so impatient.

To yank him from the stranger's arms.

To haul him out to the alley instead of hauling him home.

And that's how he had ended up here; captive between his two lovers, pants twisted between his knees and ass bared for the world to see. While his lovers were exposed just the bare minimum, just enough to tease him with their cocks just like he'd been teasing them.

He figures he deserves it. But that doesn't stop him from cursing out his lovers as he's forced to stand still in this lewd tableau.

Then a police siren fires to life somewhere nearby. They all freeze.

It wails loudly, too close for comfort, getting closer and closer.

Lights flash, illuminating the alley for one brief second, before both light and noise fade toward whereabouts unknown.

It's suddenly quiet except for the sounds of their harsh breathing. 

Adrenaline fills Spike's veins to bursting, the precariousness of their situation really sinking in. He exhales sharply as overwhelming relief and euphoria overtake the fear and panic. It's a wonder his ribs can contain the wild galloping of his heart— _too close, too close_ , it beats.

His lovers rouse from their own suspended states around him. The grip around his mouth disappears. The arms around him relax the tiniest fraction. 

In that moment, he thinks they're going to call it off. That they should call it off.

But that's right before he hears a murmured, _quickly now_ , and he's pulled taut and slammed with cock again. Any thought of stopping vanishes as he's fucked with infinitely more vigor and less finesse than before. There's nothing he can do to muffle the slap of flesh on flesh, but he bites his lip to stifle his own noises threatening to break free. 

The orgasm that had eluded him earlier rises quickly and fiercely like a vengeful tidal wave, and when it crashes over him, he nearly blacks out.

He's not sure if he manages to stay quiet. By the time he regains adequate awareness, hands are pulling up his pants and tucking him in. 

He feels sticky, loose, and thoroughly used. He sinks into his lover's embrace, imagining now a soft surface and sleep.

As if reading his mind, he hears huffs of amusement all around and then a voice lightly teasing: "After that stunt, don't think we're done with you yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying something different :) Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
